University of Virginia Library

'I Screen My Tenants Carefully'

Quest For A Non—Discriminatory Landlord

By Judy Wellman

ADVENTURES OF A NAIVE LASS OR; HOW TO BE A
DISCRIMINATING SHOPPER FOR NON-DISCRIMINATORY
APARTMENTS

PROLOGUE: I am free, white, and 21. Well, actually, I am a
little older than 21. 25, to be exact. A certain friend often refers
to me, fondly, I hope, as "old lady." Anyway, the world should
be mine. Opportunity waits just around the corner. Ask and it
shall be given. Knock and it shall be opened. Etc. In theory.

SCENE 1: "I just can't stand white-walled, brown-carpeted,
sterile, institution-like apartment buildings. Makes me feel
inhuman. Being a student is hard enough. Being an inmate
would be unbearable." (Rant and rave on in this fashion for
several more paragraphs.)

"Neither can I." (emphatically) "Let's check out some of
those lovely, homey old houses around here. What character!
What a decorating challenge! What a history! What a friendly
atmosphere!"

"Exactly what I was thinking."

SCENE 2: We spot our dream house. Right down the street.

"It's perfect! Close, good surroundings, beautiful, comfortable,
friendly, charming, unique, etc., etc., etc., and it even
has a fireplace."

"Let's take it."

"Wait a minute. Let's look at the inside first. Wonder if
anybody's there today."

Ri-i-ng. Not a soul stirs. We sit across the street and wait for
someone to come home and show us around. We talk about
"our" new apartment. An hour passes. We go and get some
Cokes and some school books. The Cokes get consumed. The
books don't get opened. Another hour.

"I love fireplaces, don't you?"

"Yeh. Just think. We can sit around the fire at night and
study and drink hot buttered rum." A bit of reflection. "Or at
least drink the hot buttered rum."

"How about blues and greens for the living room?"

"Turns me off. Orange and brown are better."

"Well, never mind. We'll work something out."

"Yeh. Let's wait and see what color the furniture is."

"Are they home yet?"

"Nope."

We continue thusly all afternoon, meanwhile keeping our
eagle eyes open for signs of life. A car drives up.

"Is it them?"

"Finally."

"How long should we wait before we go up and knock?"

"Let's wait until they get settled."

Thirty seconds is about enough, we figure. We love the
apartment. Who could help it after such lengthy and convincing
pre-conditioning? We call the landlady. She meets us in front of
"our" place after work. She is very worried: 1) that we will be
noisy and 2) that we will not keep the front porch clean. We
reassure her on both counts. Studious, hard-working, diligent
scholars are we, we proclaim. And keeping the porch clean is a
minor thing to promise when the rewards are so great for our

labor - a lovely little jewel of a comfy place.

"We'll take it," we say.

"Sign here," says she. "But wait! You won't be having any
Negro guests, will you?"

You won't believe this, but I really was surprised. Mrs. Black
(the names have been changed to protect the guilty) suddenly
looked very lonesome and old. Or was it an evil look? Had her
eyes always been that beady? Stop it, I said to myself. Be calm.
Respect her position.

Did she mean we couldn't invite friends over - whatever
their color? "Yes."

Was she listed on the University approved housing list?
"Yes."

Did she realize that she could be removed from the list for
discriminatory policies? "Oh, yes. But I didn't say I wouldn't
rent to Negroes. I screen my tenants carefully, and I would rent
to some nice colored people." (A stock answer. Learn to expect
it.) "Especially if I was sure my other tenants wouldn't object.
But I have to protect my other tenants. You understand. And I
certainly don't want a noisy house." (Translation: Negroes are
all noisy, aren't they? I don't have to reject them because they
are Negroes. I can turn them away because I know they'll be
noisy.) "But I'm not prejudiced. I have colored people in my
house a lot." (As maids?) We waited for her to say that some of
her best friends were Negroes, but somehow she didn't.

"Knowing that you work with underprivileged children,"
(the Neighborhood Youth Corps, teacher, if you please) "which
I admire you for doing. My daughter used to do that too
- and might bring them home, I don't feel I can rent to you."

Did that mean that my students would be acceptable visitors
if they were white? "Well," she said, "they are mixed, aren't
they?" Did I look blank or did I look blank?

We left quietly, dragging our feel, minus an apartment. We
had been very nice to Mrs. Black, and vice versa. Too nice,
really. But politeness is sometimes good protection. Besides,
what was the use of trying to change her mind, I mean really?

We went home and reflected. Decision: if she won't change
her mind, maybe at least she will change her actions. Several
epistles to the Housing Office followed. They resulted in a
re-definition of the term "discrimination" to include guests as
well as lessees. Our friend ultimately escaped unharmed (i.e. her
name remains on the approved list), but hopefully, she is wiser
(a value judgment, I admit) and relatively without grudges.

The episode described above left us fearful and insecure and
definitely without an apartment. We checked ourselves carefully.
Did we look neat and clean, properly middle class? Did we
act sufficiently studious, sufficiently respectful, sufficiently
innocent? Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes. We put on our
whitest, most angelic, meekest faces, and vowing to think only
positive thoughts, we again trooped forth in search of warm,
comfortable, charming, friendly, etc. living quarters.

We picked a place off the housing list. Rugby Road.
Delightful. The landlady? Mrs. Christian. Hmmm. Nice-sounding
name. We called her up.

"Hello? I am looking for an apartment for myself and my
room-mate. I understand you have one that will be available in
the fall." A fine beginning. Don't sound afraid of her. Certainly
she won't ask The Question.

Mrs. Christian turns out to be a good conversationalist; some
people would call her talkative. I form a positive image of her as
a spunky, elderly, likable woman. Then she starts to talk
politics.